


Better a Master of One

by FreshBrains



Category: Mad Max Series (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Childbirth, F/F, Five Wives Week, Gen, Girls Like Girls Ficathon, Minor Injuries, Motherhood, POV Angharad, Strength
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-01
Updated: 2015-09-01
Packaged: 2018-04-18 10:33:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4702799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FreshBrains/pseuds/FreshBrains
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Splendid is no longer the spoilt boy’s plaything, so she grits her teeth, stands on shaking and searing legs, holds her hands up into the dry air, and screams with all the breath in her lungs towards the disappearing War Rig, “<i>I’m alive!</i>”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Better a Master of One

**Author's Note:**

  * For [slinkhard (merrymelody)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/merrymelody/gifts).



> For Tumblr's Five Wives Week Day 1, which focuses on the Splendid Angharad, as well as the Girls Like Girls Femslash Ficathon prompt "Capable/Angharad, Angharad lives AU" by slinkhard.

_Breathe…in through the nose,_ sharp, _out through the mouth_ , hot… _that’s a good girl._

The words come into her head in Miss Giddy’s firm rasp, sending an immediate wash of stiff-backed strength through Splendid’s core. Everything aches, and not in its usual ache—her back, her hips, her neck, all of it throbs and heaves, like her bones are melting in on each other, like they couldn’t support her or her little one any longer, or maybe didn’t _want_ to.

“Miss—Giddy—“ she huffs out, mouth dry with sand. But her teacher-mother isn’t there. It is only her mind, her thoughts drowning in the ever-nearing roar of engines, the thick, choking scent of guzzoline. She is alone between monsters made of metal, her baby wishing to be out into the awful world, her chest screaming with tight agony, and all she wants is the strength to push herself off from the sand and back into her sisters’ waiting arms.

“Grab her,” Joe yells out into the dry air, voice thick with anger, but void of emotion. How much feeling could one have for a plaything, anyways? They get dirty and torn and you throw them away.

But Splendid is no longer the spoilt boy’s plaything, so she grits her teeth, stands on shaking and searing legs, holds her hands up into the dry air, and screams with all the breath in her lungs towards the disappearing War Rig, “ _I’m alive!_ ”

The words ring out hot and clear, the blue skies ignoring the gag in the back of her throat, the choke of dirt and blood rising in her gullet. It lets the words travel, all the way back to the War Rig rumbling into the horizon, and Splendid holds her breath until a familiar shock of brilliant red appears outside the cab of the truck.

The sound of brakes crunching against sand brings a garbled laugh to her lips. She stumbles forward, her belly throwing her off balance as it often does, and a gout of blood travels down her leg followed by a sharp pain. “I’m alive,” she says again, falling to her knees, the grit digging into her flesh. The road melts in front of her, Joe yells from behind, and the Splendid Angharad closes her eyes, the fire of Capable’s hair still burned into memory.

 

_Hot, too hot_ , she thinks before even opening her eyes, the blankets covering her body soaked in sweat. The world smells like metal. “Water,” she croaks, and a tin cup touches her lips.

“Our brilliant Splendid,” the Dag says from her left, tipping the cup a bit more for her. “Is there a thing you cannot master?”

Splendid opens her eyes, gritty with grime. “What…have I mastered?”

“Staying alive,” Capable says from her right, voice hushed and gentle, and then Splendid _knows_ , she just knows that the little one made it.

“Let me see him,” Splendid says, lifting herself off the hot metal floor of the hidden cab in the truck. A fiery pain spreads through her lower half, but the cloth covering her is not soaked in blood, so she just keeps her eyes on the bundle on Capable’s arms and tries to forget about her baby-bereft body.

Capable looks up at her, eyes serene in a way none of their eyes have ever been, not for one second. “Ten fingers, ten toes, and a button nose. Perfect in every way.” A stray curl falls into her puffy eyes, and Splendid can see she’s been crying.

“No tears, Capable one,” Splendid says, taking the child from her arms. “What is there to cry about now? The little one is born free. I’m free. _We_ are free.” Capable was right—the baby is perfect, plump and pink and squirming, a blank slate in their cruel world. “Who helped me with him?”

The Dag and Cheedo go quiet, looking away shyly. But Capable just smiles. “I led him into the world. He came feet-first, you know, but my mum used to deliver the Wretched babes. All I had to do was give him a lovely little gentle touch and twist and there he was.”

Furiosa leans back, arm on the back of Max’s seat. “You wouldn’t have made it without her help, Splendid.”

Capable ducks her head, cheeks flushing sweetly. She touches the baby’s tiny, curled fist. “What shall you call him?”

Splendid slides her index fingers along the baby’s cheek until she meets Capable’s touch, both of them sharing the warmth of his strong breath. “I will call him Abel. And from now on, I will be Angharad.”

“No more Splendid?” Cheedo looks almost bereft but hides it well.

Angharad, newly born and newly mothered, shakes her head. “I will use the name my mother gave me, and Abel will have the name of the mother who brought him into the world.”

Capable opens her mouth to speak, then closes it. “Oh, Angharad,” she says softly, lip trembling.

“We must all be mothers now,” Angharad says, holding Abel close to her chest. “On our very own terms.”

The War Rig rumbles along the dusty desert, coughing its great bellows of smoke into the gritty air, and the mothers curl up together with their new son. “We are alive, Capable,” Angharad says, face buried in Capable’s sun-scented hair.

“That we are,” Capable says, eyes shut to the world, lips curled into a smile.


End file.
